


Freefall

by envysparkler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ....eventually, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War Fix-It, Electrocution, Everybody Gets a Hug, Hurt James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Hurt Sam Wilson, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Wilson Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, everybody needs a hug, whump fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24075052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: "But Zola was working for SHIELD, or at least it was still called SHIELD, and Dad was many things, but no one would’ve called him trusting.  If they managed to recreate the serum, they would’ve had to pry it from his cold, dead –”Tony froze.  Sam winced.“Sam,” Tony turned towards him, his face eerily blank, “How did HYDRA get its hands on the supersoldier serum?”(Or: Sam very nearly catches Rhodey.  Tony learns the truth several hours before a bunker in Siberia.  Zemo remembers the trigger words.  And Ross is losing patience fast.)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a 'what would happen if Sam actually almost caught Rhodey when he fell?' and ended up a Civil War fix-it. I'd like to say I was surprised, but that would be a lie.
> 
> Also, I don't know Russian and it's been years since I've seen the movie so I apologize in advance. And I needed a convenient villain and Ross was right there.

His heart dropped – for a second, he was hanging in the air in another world, above a different terrain, fighting a different battle, and watching his best friend tumble through the air, weightless for a moment.

Gravity reasserted itself and Sam had changed course before he’d even made a conscious decision, tracking Rhodey’s trajectory with Riley’s name caught in his throat.

Faster, faster, _faster_ – if only he’d been faster that day, if only he’d acted sooner, quicker, if he hadn’t spent that endless second staring into the void where Riley had been, bewildered and lost – Sam shot forward, adjusting his course to meet Rhodey’s, his eyes fixed on the useless metal suit and not the ground coming up _far_ too fast.

He couldn’t catch him – Sam’s wings weren’t designed to lift a hulking suit of armor and the ground was way too close – but he _could_ redirect their momentum. He plowed into Rhodey with a grunt, frantic fingers catching grooves in metal armor, and –

The impact crushed the breath out of his lungs.

The ground was underneath him – on top of him – they were tumbling across the grass, he could see dizzying glimpses of cold, gray skies – someone shouted – and Sam’s arm was pinched between Rhodey’s arm and chest and he already knew that wasn’t going to end well – something pulled and pain flared with a sudden _crack_.

He couldn’t feel metal underneath his fingers anymore. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. He couldn’t breathe no matter how hard he tried. His wings caught – and he tried to stop the spinning, he cast out his unbroken hand and – and there was a sickening _pop_.

And he spiraled down into the darkness, dizzy and hurt and exhausted.

* * *

“Rhodey!” Tony screamed, touching down and sprinting to his friend’s side. He had been too late to catch him, too late to stop his best friend from rolling across the grass in a dead suit. But Rhodey had finally come to a halt and Tony rushed to his side, pulling Rhodey flat on his back and tearing off the faceplate.

Rhodey blinked, groaning, and Tony felt his heart start working again.

“Tones,” Rhodey almost slurred, wincing as his hands curled and uncurled.

“Stay down,” Tony said gently. “FRIDAY, ambulance, stat.”

“Yes, boss,” FRIDAY murmured and Tony sat there, listening to his best friend breathe and trying to remember how to do it himself.

Rhodey had – Rhodey had almost – Tony remembered the sensation of freefall, the sickening dread in his stomach, the terror of watching the ground grow bigger and bigger. And Rhodey had nearly – Rhodey had – all for the sake of an idiot who went haring after his best friend without a single thought about doing things the _right way_.

Tony gritted his teeth and looked up – the Quinjet was long gone.

Rhodey had almost died. The same way he’d failed to save all those people in Sokovia when the monster he built had decided to tear apart the world. Rhodey had almost become another casualty in the long, long list of Tony Stark’s sins.

He hadn’t even been able to catch him. Tony turned towards Sam, who was a crumpled pile of limbs several feet away, who _wasn’t moving_ –

“He’s breathing,” Vision said gently, hovering over Sam, “But he appears to require medical attention.”

Tony kept his mouth shut, because there were a lot of things he wanted to say to that – and to Vision – but he kept them to himself. The first priority was ensuring that Sam and Rhodey got medical treatment. The second was going after Steve and Barnes, wherever they decided they absolutely _had_ to run off to when one of them was a war criminal who’d bombed the UN and had just escaped from custody – nearly killing Tony in the process, he was _not_ going to forget that burst of pressure any time soon, nor the terrifying realization that only his Iron Man gauntlet had protected him from a bullet to the heart.

Tony heard the sirens getting closer and was abruptly reminded that Sam was no less a wanted man. “FRIDAY,” he said, wavering for a moment at the sight of crumpled wings. If Sam hadn’t ducked, Vision wouldn’t have hit Rhodey.

But Sam had tried to catch Rhodey. He was hurt and unconscious and didn’t deserve to wake up in chains.

“Yes, boss?”

“I want a revised copy of the Sokovia Accords, with Sam Wilson’s signature on them.”

“Yes, boss.” Vision raised his eyebrows. Tony remembered the others, strewn about on the airport hangar.

“Get Wanda out of here,” Tony said to Vision, not bothering to hide the bite in his tone. “She’s grounded. I don’t want to see her take a step out of the Avengers compound until she signs the Accords.”

Vision nodded solemnly, rising up to head back to the hangar, “And the others?”

“Barton and the giant guy got into Germany by themselves, they can get out by themselves,” Tony snapped, “I would hurry – Ross’ men will be here any moment.” Tony waited until Vision left before murmuring to FRIDAY, “Tell Happy to get the kid out of here, _now_.”

Tony had already rerouted the security cameras to his own files, and it was easy enough to erase them. He could blame it on Steve. He _would_ blame it on Steve. Who had told him to get Wanda involved? And drag Barton out of retirement? And for _what_? Tony got that Steve and Barnes went way back, but the Winter Soldier was clearly unstable and Steve couldn’t protect him forever.

He listened to Rhodey’s breathing as rage seethed inside of him.

* * *

“– you can’t be _serious_ –”

Everything felt muddled. Like he was wrapped up in a sticky cocoon, tight and stifling.

“– don’t understand why –”

Some things were starting to make their way to the surface. Like the headache, dull and throbbing. And the stabs of pain in his chest.

“– had enough of your stalling, _Stark_ –”

Sam frowned and fought his eyes open. It was hard – it felt like an elephant was sitting on him, trapping his limbs and crushing his chest.

“– injured – unconscious – can’t go –”

“I’d like to see you stop me!” Sam blinked as the – the door? White walls and sheets and…and a line in his arm, snaking up to a bag of clear fluid. Hospital, then – burst open, one red-faced scowling General Ross stomping inside. Followed by Tony Stark, wearing a black eye and a sling.

“Did you sign the Accords?” Ross glared at him.

Sam blinked at him – what was he – he remembered…a fight? A fight, at an airport. And then – falling. Riley, falling.

No, Riley was _dead_.

His eyes caught on Tony, who was staring at him with a pinched expression, and – “Rhodey!” Sam gasped. He stared at Tony, whose expression was closed off, and felt horror rise in his throat. “Rhodey, he fell – is he okay – is he – where is he? What happened?”

He barely registered the monitors beeping frantically, his gaze searching around the room – no sign of Rhodey – and then he looked back at Tony, suddenly much closer, and Ross, whose glare was getting darker and darker –

“Rhodey’s fine – he’s in another room – calm down Wilson, Rhodey’s fine –”

Ross left with a sullen sneer and Sam let Tony push him back against the pillows. The beeping of the monitors died back to a steady beat.

He regarded Tony. “The Accords?” he asked flatly.

“You needed medical treatment,” Tony said, scowling back, “And with that asshole breathing down everyone’s necks, I thought it was for the best.”

“And when exactly did I get a chance to sign the Accords?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Right before the airport battle,” Tony shrugged, “Brought around an electronic copy so you could help me talk Steve and Barnes down. Tragically, that failed.”

“The others?” Sam asked – Steve and Bucky had gotten away, judging by the sour look on Tony’s face.

“As far as Ross and everyone else is concerned, Wanda, Barton and the giant guy were never there.” Tony’s expression turned even darker. “They should never have been there in the first place.”

Sam disagreed. Sam thought that the threat of a supersoldier squad necessitated every hero they could get their hands on. Sam was also not entirely sold on the Accords, but he was definitely grateful for the lack of handcuffs. The broken ribs were painful enough.

Tony stayed next to the bed, staring at Sam, even though he’d already imparted the details of their cover-up and Sam would be sure to remember them the next time Ross came sniffing around and why was he still standing there, staring –

Oh. So this wasn’t solely for Sam’s welfare.

Tony must’ve seen his expression change, because his twisted to a rueful smile. “Where are they, Wilson?”

Sam shook his head. He wasn’t going to give them up.

“Come on, Wilson, the Winter Soldier is a threat,” Tony said quietly, “You know that – he nearly killed you in Bucharest, and he’s definitely tried to kill Steve at least once. Tell me where they are.”

“He’s not the Winter Soldier,” Sam snapped back – because, yes, the Winter Soldier had nearly killed both him and Steve, but this wasn’t the Winter Soldier. “His name is Bucky Barnes, and he’s a war hero, and he’s been a POW with HYDRA for seventy years. He didn’t blow up the UN – he was framed. Barnes wouldn’t hurt Steve. The – the breaking out – he was conditioned to do that. Trigger words, to activate his brainwashing.”

“Framed,” Tony repeated skeptically.

“Framed,” Sam repeated, narrowing his eyes and daring Tony to disagree.

Tony stared at him for a long moment before he sighed. “Alright,” he said, “Say I believe you. Then where are they going? Why didn’t Barnes turn himself back in? We lost the fake psychiatrist, whoever that was, and we’ll get him a fair trial. Why run?”

Sam bit his lip.

“I’m not going to tell Ross,” Tony said, watching him carefully.

Sam stared at him, wavering. On one hand, Tony had signed the Accords and sided against them. On the other – he had helped him not get arrested, and it was clear he wasn’t above bending the rules when it suited him.

They _had_ debated over whether or not to tell Tony. If Sam could find the right words, if he could get Tony to believe him…

Sam was worried about Steve and Bucky, headed straight for a trap and definitely outnumbered.

“Siberia,” Sam whispered, “There are more supersoldiers, like Barnes. HYDRA put them on ice in a facility in Siberia. But the guy – the fake psychiatrist. He found the trigger words. He plans to wake them up. The Winter Soldier was bad enough, and now he’ll have five of them.”

Tony stared at him, horrified. Sam can see him mouthing _‘five’_ incredulously. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, shrill, “Why didn’t you call me the _second_ you found out?!”

“We didn’t know if the Accords would let you help,” Sam said quietly.

Tony stared at him in disbelief for a long second before he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, muttering something under his breath. Sam only caught the words _‘strangle’_ and _‘Steve’_.

“Okay,” Tony breathed out slowly, “Okay. Five supersoldiers in Siberia. I can do this. I’ll get Natasha – and of course you told _her_ , no wonder she attacked T’Challa. I can get T’Challa too, if I manage to convince him that Barnes was framed. Vision’s back with Wanda – this would _really_ be a good time for Thor and Banner to drop back onto Earth, but I’ll take what I can get. _Five supersoldiers._ ” Tony cursed again, and Sam looked from the dark circles under his eyes to the bruises and the arm in a sling. Tony didn’t leave the fight unscathed either, and it occurred to him that they really should’ve explained things to Tony before it escalated into a fight.

“This shouldn’t even be _possible_ ,” Tony was still muttering. “Erskine never – Zola was working for SHIELD – HYDRA – whatever the goddamn fuck they called themselves – but where did they even get their hands on so much serum? Somehow, I can’t believe dear old Dad was incompetent enough to let _five_ doses of supersoldier serum vanish without a trace –”

Sam couldn’t help it. He winced, and Tony’s eagle eyes caught sight of the expression, his words trailing off.

“How _did_ HYDRA get their hands on five doses of supersoldier serum?” Tony asked quietly.

Sam grimaced. “I don’t know,” he started, but Tony cut him off.

“Don’t give me that,” Tony narrowed his eyes, “You know _something_.”

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Wilson, how did HYDRA create five new supersoldiers?” Tony asked again, staring at him.

Sam resolutely kept his mouth shut. This was definitely not his secret to tell.

“HYDRA didn’t have five supersoldiers during World War II – they barely managed to get the process right with Barnes,” Tony mused, “And you said Siberia – the Cold War, then. But Zola was working for SHIELD, or at least it was still called SHIELD, and Dad was many things, but no one would’ve called him _trusting_. If they managed to recreate the serum, they would’ve had to pry it from his cold, dead –”

Tony froze. Sam winced.

“Sam,” Tony turned towards him, his face eerily blank, “How did HYDRA get its hands on the supersoldier serum?”

Sam had only heard bits and pieces of the story, in Barnes’ shuddering voice, but it was enough. “He was brainwashed,” Sam said, in the smallest voice he’d ever used. “He didn’t know what he was doing.”

For a long second Tony stared at him, confused, before realization, horror, and rage slammed into his eyes, his face automatically twisting into a murderous snarl. “He – _the Winter Solider_ – he was his _friend_ –”

“It wasn’t him!” Sam shouted over Tony’s growing fury, terror sinking into his heart. Tony looked beyond furious – he looked like he was going to tear Bucky apart with his bare hands, and Steve would never let that happen and _he’d told him where they were_ and – “It wasn’t him! He was brainwashed, Stark – Tony, listen, _please_ – it wasn’t him!”

Tony wasn’t listening. Tony was stalking towards the doorway, murder written in every line in his body.

Sam scrambled up, because this was his fault – he should’ve kept his mouth shut, he should’ve never told Tony where they’d gone. Steve and Bucky would both fall in the face of this dark rage, because this wasn’t about the Accords or blowing up the UN. This was about Tony’s parents. This was _personal_.

“Don’t –” his chest _squeezed_ , pain radiating out as he fought free of the blankets – “Tony, please, _it wasn’t him_ –” his arm throbbed as he moved it too quickly, and his shoulder exploded in agony as he tried to lever off of the bed – “Tony, it wasn’t Barnes, it wasn’t, he didn’t know what he was doing –” the room had started to grow gray and hazy, his breaths faster and harsher – “He wasn’t in his right mind, you know that, he was brainwashed, _it wasn’t him_!”

There was no oxygen in the room, or at least there wasn’t any in his lungs, but his feet were on cold tile – and his chest burned, spikes stabbing _deep_ as he gasped, reaching out an arm on fire for a figure he could barely see –

An arm caught his waist and he could smell leather, his fall arrested by a broad shoulder. Sam was carefully maneuvered back on to the bed, still gasping for breath, and a hand gently pushed his non-injured shoulder until Sam was flat against the pillows.

Sam caught the corner of the leather jacket in thick, clumsy fingers, his hold weak and fragile. If Tony backed up a step, his shoulder would loudly and painfully express its displeasure and his grip would fail.

But Tony didn’t move. He stayed by the edge of the bed, watching Sam.

“It wasn’t him,” Sam said weakly, his words barely audible. “He didn’t know what he was doing. It _wasn’t_ Barnes.”

“The Winter Soldier killed my parents,” Tony said, cold and flat, and Sam tightened his grip on the man’s jacket in vain. He had just signed both their death warrants, Steve and Bucky – they were supersoldiers, but Iron Man was an _army_.

“But not Bucky Barnes,” Tony finished, gently prying Sam’s fingers from his jacket. Sam stared at him – did he just –

“We have five supersoldiers to deal with first,” Tony’s face was pale, his expression carefully controlled. He strode towards the doorway, his movements jerky. “I’ll get a doctor to drop by, make sure you haven’t punctured a lung,” he said, his tone clipped. “And Rhodey’s in the room next door.”

He didn’t slam the door on the way out, but the careful, controlled click was almost worse.

Sam closed his eyes and prayed he hadn’t made a horrible mistake.

* * *

Tony nearly ran into T’Challa outside Sam’s door, his scowl deepening at the sight of the Wakandan King and his carefully neutral expression. He also felt an itch on the back of his neck – the Black Widow was watching him from somewhere.

“How much of that did you hear?” Tony said, not in the mood to play games.

T’Challa’s expression wasn’t pitying, but it was a near thing. “Barnes was framed?” he asked delicately.

“Sir,” FRIDAY sounded in his ear, “There was a police investigation into a hotel room, rented out in the name of the man who impersonated the psychiatrist. One of the things found in the room was a wig and mask matching the description of James Buchanan Barnes.”

Of _fucking_ course.

“Yes,” he said tersely, heading down the corridor. T’Challa fell in step beside him.

“And the real culprit?” he asked.

“Helmut Zemo,” FRIDAY said, “Former Sokovian Armed Forces. His wife and child were killed during Ultron’s attack.”

Of course. _Of course_. All of this led back to Tony and his stupid, _stupid_ decision to create Ultron. His biggest failure, and he kept on reaping what he’d sown.

Tony tersely imparted the highlights to T’Challa, and didn’t acknowledge Natasha when she appeared at his side.

“What are we going to tell Ross?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. He thought the Sokovia Accords would help. He thought that accountability – that clear, unbiased eyes would help him find his way. But it was now apparent that he’d never cleaned up his messes to start with. “Absolutely nothing. Finding Steve and Barnes is Ross’ job. We’re just taking a trip.”

“If he follows us?” Natasha asked.

Tony laughed. He had so much rage – and grief, he could see his parents every time he closed his eyes, could remember the day they left as vividly as if it had been yesterday, could see the wrecked car underneath the headlines – that he almost _wished_ Ross would try something. Tony was itching for a fight.

Natasha wisely didn’t continue the conversation. T’Challa followed him silently.

* * *

They managed to catch up to Steve and Barnes easily enough.

They were greeted with Steve’s wary eyes over the edge of his shield and the Winter Solider – no, this was Bucky Barnes, he had to keep them separate or he was going to lose his damn mind – levelling a very big gun at their faces.

“Paranoid, much?” Tony said, his tone bitter.

Steve didn’t move. “That depends,” he said carefully, “Are you here to take us in?” He glanced at Natasha and T’Challa.

“No,” Tony said curtly, “Ross doesn’t know we’re here.”

“Then why _are_ you here?” Steve asked, his voice level.

“Wilson told me about the supersoldiers,” Tony said flatly, “Barnes was framed for the UN bombing – they found a wig and a mask in Zemo’s hotel room.” His eyes flicked up to the Winter Soldier – the man who’d _murdered_ – was this what his parents had seen? Their last sight a man with a gun in their face?

Barnes. He had to remember that. This was Bucky Barnes. Barnes didn’t kill his parents. He just looked a lot like the guy who did.

“So now you believe me?” Steve straightened, lowering the shield. “Didn’t know you were willing to go against Ross.”

Tony scoffed. His rage was wound too tight – it was going to lash out, and he’d prefer to aim it at their targets. “Zemo was Sokovian Armed Forces,” he said, and Steve’s face fell. “Figured this was my mess to clean up.”

Steve sighed, and nodded at Natasha and T’Challa. Tony kept his gaze on Barnes – the Winter Soldier – _Barnes_. “You’re going to keep pointing that gun at us?” he asked, his voice deliberately light.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve nodded at him. Barnes slowly lowered the gun, a distrustful expression on his face.

Fair’s fair. Tony certainly wouldn’t be turning his back to Barnes any time soon.

The base was silent. Eerily so. Zemo had probably had enough time to wake up the supersoldiers and get out, but the silence was prickling down Tony’s spine, a sense of foreboding that got stronger and stronger with every step.

“Heat signature,” he said, repeated FRIDAY’s words as they entered a large room, readying his weapons.

“How many?” Steve asked tersely as they all fanned out to cover more space.

Tony blinked at FRIDAY’s readings. “One,” he said, a little surprised – sure, maybe Zemo had left only one supersoldier to guard his escape, but that had been a little arrogant of him. Between the five of them, one supersoldier should be _easy_ to –

The lights flickered on, and all of them flinched. They illuminated five pods, each with – with a _person_ inside, god, Tony was going to be sick. He didn’t need visual evidence of how HYDRA had treated its soldiers – how it had treated Barnes – the Winter Soldier – Bucky Barnes –

Wait a minute. There were no heat signatures from the pods, even though Tony could clearly see the outlines of five bodies.

“They died in their sleep.” A cold voice, echoing around them. “Did you really think I wanted _more_ of you?” The derision was clear. Derision and hate and helpless fury. After Sokovia, Tony couldn’t say he was surprised.

“But I’m grateful, because they brought you here.” Another light, flickering on, and Tony immediately turned and aimed.

Steve was faster, but his shield – his _vibranium_ shield – just bounced off the plate window, leaving Zemo’s smirk untouched.

“The Soviets built this bunker to withstand a lot more force than that, Captain,” Zemo chided.

Tony frowned – if FRIDAY could pick up his heat signature, then Tony could definitely get past that window. It would only take him a couple of minutes. “More force than five Avengers?” Tony asked dryly.

Zemo laughed, “Probably not, Stark. And I certainly wasn’t expecting five of you. But then you will never know why you came.”

This guy was crazier than a bag of cats. Crazier than _Loki_. World domination, Tony could understand. But this guy had blown up the UN to – what? Show them five dead supersoldiers?

Tony quietly told FRIDAY to keep watching the readings. Steve and Barnes had certainly come back from the dead.

“You killed multiple innocent people, just to bring us here?” Steve said, his jaw clenched, “ _Why_?”

“We already know why, Captain,” Tony said sharply, “Sokovia. Ultron. You lost your wife and kid.”

Zemo turned his gaze to Tony, an almost fanatic gleam in his eyes. “I lost _everyone_. And you will too,” he vowed.

That was a chilling threat. Tony turned towards the pods, but the supersoldiers were still lifeless.

Something clicked behind them, and they all spun towards a screen. A date had popped up – in Russian, but Tony could read it.

_16 December 1991._

No. No no no no no. _No_.

“An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again,” Zemo said, and his words sounded like they were coming from far away. “But one which crumbles from within? That’s _dead_.”

Dead. Dead like his parents.

“ _Forever_.”

It was a video. Of course it was. The road – “I know that road,” Tony breathed out. He was distantly aware that Natasha and T’Challa had migrated to look over his shoulder.

The car sped across the screen and crashed into a tree. He knew that part. He’d seen that part before.

He’d never seen the motorcycle. Never watched Barnes – the Winter Soldier – Barnes – the Soldier – never watched the light glint off that metal arm.

His father stumbled out of the car, crawling towards the road. He didn’t know that either – they had found his body in the car. Tony could feel his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He almost screamed at the screen – _he’s behind you, get away_ –

“Sergeant Barnes?”

No. _No_. Howard Stark knew Bucky Barnes. He knew the man who murdered him. _He knew him and he killed them anyway_.

Tony didn’t look up, because if he did – if he looked and saw the murderer standing in front of him, he didn’t know what he’d do.

“Howard?” Tony felt his resolve crumble. The leash he’d put on his emotions – for Sam’s sake, because the man had made a convincing argument, for the threat of five supersoldiers that was now dead and gone – was beginning to fray. “Howard?”

The arm swung – once, twice. It was a metal arm. Tony could do the calculations himself.

Tony kept watching. Every second was another knife driving into his heart. He watched Barnes – the Winter Soldier – Bucky – he watched the man round the car. He couldn’t look away.

Tony couldn’t see inside the car. It didn’t matter. He could imagine it. His mother’s sobs cut off abruptly.

The video ended with James Buchanan Barnes shooting out the camera.

The room was silent. Achingly silent. He could hear his mother’s crying echoing faintly.

_‘Sergeant Barnes?’_

Tony looked up and into the face of his parents’ murderer.

He started forward, but Steve grabbed his arm and Natasha stepped into his path, both looking at him with wide eyes, with _pity_.

“Tony,” Steve said quietly, “It wasn’t him.”

That was the same thing Sam had said. _It wasn’t him_. How the goddamn hell did _they_ know?!

“You knew,” he said, searching Steve’s face, “You knew and you never told me.”

“I didn’t know it was him,” Steve said quietly, meeting his gaze.

“Bullshit!” Tony shouted, “You _knew_!”

Secrets. Always secrets. All around him, secrets, _secrets_ , secrets. He thought Steve was his _friend_.

Clearly not. Not enough to tell the truth.

Tony turned back to the video, the gray screen flickering. To the last moments of his parents. His father, staring at the face of a man he’d called a friend. His mother, weakly calling out for her husband.

“We weren’t sure,” Natasha said, her voice low.

“You knew too,” Tony said, not looking at her. Of course she did. Natasha knew everything. She’d never bothered to tell him anything either. All his so-called friends were liars.

“Zola said something,” she said, and he turned towards her. She was watching him carefully, tracking his movements like _he_ was the threat and not the murderer she’d turned her back to. “But there was no proof.”

No. The proof was in front of him.

“We didn’t know for sure, and we didn’t want to tell you until there was proof,” Natasha said, low and calm. So very reasonable.

Tony didn’t want her to sound reasonable. He wanted to rage at her – at Steve – at the man who wore the face that had killed his parents. He wanted to – he wanted –

He wanted to go home. Back to Pepper, to curl up in her embrace. Back to Rhodey, who hadn’t lied about his parents’ deaths.

He was tired of fighting. He was _exhausted_. He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

He raised a hand and shot through the screen, ignoring everyone’s yelps of alarm.

“Tony,” Steve started.

“Don’t bother,” Tony shrugged his hand off, resisting the urge to rip it off and send Steve flying.

“Tony, I understand this is a shock,” Steve continued, his voice quiet, his gaze flickering over Tony’s shoulder to where Zemo was presumably lurking.

“It was a shock,” Tony agreed bitterly. T’Challa wasn’t even watching him, his gaze fixed on Zemo. “It was a shock eight hours ago when Wilson told me.”

Steve paused. “Sam told you?”

“Didn’t spell it out in all that gory detail,” Tony motioned to the ruined screen. “Just the basics. Far more than you ever did,” he snarled. And then, “I’m done here.” 

He ignored Zemo – there were four other people here, any one of them could take him down.

“Tony – Tony, what do you mean you’re done –”

Tony ignored him, and raised his gauntlet again, sending five rockets towards the five pods.

Everyone shouted as the pods exploded, but Tony kept on walking.

“There,” he called out, “They won’t be coming back from the dead anytime soon. I’m sure all of you can hitch a ride together. I’m _done_.”

“Tony?”

“Tony, I’m sorry –”

“Stark –”

“No,” Tony hissed. He didn’t want to hear Barnes speak. “I said I’m done. Call me if the world is ending. Otherwise, figure it out on your own. I don’t care about the Accords anymore. I don’t care about the _Avengers_ anymore. Spend the rest of your lives on the run if you want, I don’t give a damn. _Goodbye._ ”

The doors slammed shut before he reached them. 

The supersoldiers were still dead. It would take Tony _seconds_ to burn through the lock, what was Zemo trying to –

“Желание.” Tony stared as Zemo began to rattle off Russian words. “Ржавый. Семнадцать.” Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. What the _hell_ –

“No!” Steve shouted, running for the window as Barnes paled, but Zemo’s voice was growing louder, “Рассвет. Печь. Девять.” Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.

Trigger words. Sam had something about trigger words.

“No, no, no,” Barnes stumbled back, his eyes going wide. He dropped the gun, covering his ears with his hands.

But Zemo’s voice was loud and the crackle of the intercom nearly sent them to their knees. “Доброкачественный. Возвращение на родину. Один.” Benign. Homecoming. One. 

The glass wasn’t even cracking under Steve’s shield.

“Грузовой вагон.” Freight car.

Barnes dropped his hands from his ears and the Winter Soldier straightened up. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Ready to comply.”

Behind the window, Zemo smiled. “Kill the Avengers.”

Natasha immediately backed away from Barnes – the Winter Soldier. That wasn’t Barnes, not anymore.

That was the monster that murdered his parents. That was the man in the video, the one whose metal hand had punched his father and strangled his mother.

“FRIDAY,” Tony whispered, “Any tips on taking down a brainwashed supersoldier?”

“Alive, sir?” she asked.

“Let’s not limit ourselves,” he muttered. T’Challa had backed away, glancing at the window behind which Zemo was smirking. Steve had abandoned his quest to smash in the window and was slowly approaching the Winter Soldier, shield down.

“Bucky?” Steve said softly, “Bucky, can you hear me?” 

The Winter Soldier snapped his head towards Steve with a suddenness that startled all of them. Steve hesitated for a second.

“Bucky, it’s me, Steve,” he said, taking another cautious step forward.

“Captain America,” the Winter Soldier said in a monotone.

“Yes, Bucky, I’m Captain –”

“Avenger,” the Winter Soldier said flatly.

Tony would’ve _liked_ to say that Nat reacted first, but the Winter Soldier had a gun in his hands before she could shoot her Widow’s Bite, and Steve barely managed to get his shield up in time.

Zemo was laughing, but Tony was aiming – Nat’s Widow’s Bite stunned him only for a second and then he was advancing on her. “Black Widow. Avenger.”

“Nat, _duck_!” Tony called out, and she spun into a roll behind one of the ruined pods – Tony fired, but the Winter Soldier dodged and started shooting at him.

“Iron Man. Avenger.”

Cute. Ross should hire him for party tricks.

T’Challa intercepted him before he made it to Tony, and the Winter Soldier shrugged him off like an annoying fly. T’Challa kept attacking but the Winter Soldier didn’t name him a target – the Wakandan King wasn’t really an Avenger and actually, come to think of it, Tony had no idea if the guy had ever signed the Accords. 

Tony would pay good money to watch Ross go after the sovereign ruler of a reclusive nation.

“T’Challa,” Tony snapped, “Out of the way.” The panther mask swiveled towards him, and the king gracefully jumped out of the way at the sight of the weapons locked and loaded.

“Going to do this the easy way or the hard way, Barnes?” Tony asked lightly.

The Winter Soldier didn’t answer. He merely attacked.

Tony fired his weapons with grim determination, and cursed when the Winter Soldier managed to evade most of them – he was _fast_ , and Tony had sparred against Steve before, but never like this. Never seriously.

Tony managed to knock the gun out of the Winter Soldier’s hands, though, which was when Steve ran back into the fray. Conveniently blocking Tony’s line of fire, the bastard.

“Bucky, I know you’re in there,” Steve said quietly, “I know you. The kid from Brooklyn is still rattling around your head.”

Tony saw the Winter Soldier mouth the word ‘ _Bucky_ ’ like he’d never heard it before. Tony shifted, trying to get a good shot past Steve’s shoulders and darkly wondering how much concern he should really give to the man that had, _once again_ , put his old best friend ahead of the safety of the mission.

“Bucky, it’s me,” Steve said softly. He lowered his shield. “I used to put newspapers in my shoes. Remember?” He stepped closer and the Winter Soldier stared at him. “It’s Steve.”

Natasha peered out from behind the ruin of a pod, guns at the ready. T’Challa backed up a step, focusing on Zemo again. Tony gritted his teeth.

“Step aside, Cap,” Tony said, loud and clear, “You’re blocking my shot.”

“No.” Steve flung a hand out to stop him, not turning around, “No, Bucky’s still in there. We’re _not_ hurting him.”

“How many teammates will you sacrifice to save your friend, Captain?” Zemo laughed.

Steve didn’t answer and Tony felt a chill go down his spine.

“Bucky,” he said gently, “I know you’re in there.” Another step forward, until they were face to face. “I’m with you till the end of the line,” he said, reaching out a hand.

The instant it connected, Barnes – the _Winter Soldier_ moved. The crack echoed throughout the room, and Steve gasped, met with a metal fist to the face.

“Steve!” Natasha shouted, and fired. Steve groaned, and tried – tried to pull Barnes _out of the way_ , the idiot – but the Winter Soldier took the opportunity to attack Steve and Tony cursed, because he _still_ didn’t have a clear shot –

The Soldier grabbed Steve by the neck and slammed him into the ground. Tony strangled his shout and aimed his repulsors – Natasha was firing as well, but he was blocking with his metal arm.

T’Challa attacked him from behind, silent, dark suit blending into the shadows, and Tony only saw him when he was almost on top of Barnes – but the Winter Soldier was faster, and his metal arm caught the Black Panther and sent him flying into the wreckage of the pods.

Tony kept firing, hoping to distract him from Natasha – who was out of bullets, and trying to find cover again – and Steve – groaning on the ground, dazed and bleeding.

Tony had seen how fast Barnes was, back in Bucharest, where he’d barely escaped a gunshot, point-blank to the chest. But he hadn’t been Iron Man then, and surely now he could –

The Winter Soldier fired, straight into Tony’s chest, and the force of the blast sent him skidding across the floor.

“Reactor’s structural integrity at 86%, sir,” FRIDAY said.

Natasha hit him with another Widow’s Bite, and another, but the Winter Soldier shrugged them off like they were mosquito bites. Tony struggled upright just as Barnes reached Natasha and tore her wrist holsters off. 

He aimed them at her and Nat crumpled with a scream, twitching. Tony snarled and fired his repulsors, aiming to get him away from her.

T’Challa swung at the Soldier from behind and Tony flew in closer, intending to finish this before anyone else got hurt.

The Winter Soldier swung T’Challa off again, but Tony was there, and it felt _satisfying_ to sink his armored fist into Barnes’ face.

This was the man – the _monster_ – who’d murdered his parents. Another punch, and another, and another, and it almost felt cathartic.

It certainly felt better than his augmented reality daydreaming, and Tony locked his fingers around the throat of the man who had _strangled_ his _mother_ and pretended this was justice. The Winter Soldier had killed far more people than just Howard and Maria Stark and he was about to kill Tony’s teammates and really, Tony was doing the world a _favor_ –

A shield clattered into his side and Tony paused, surprised, and turned to see Steve’s wide eyes. “Tony, no!” he shouted, because of course he did, because Barnes was more important than Tony and Natasha and T’Challa and Tony’s parents and every single person the Winter Soldier had killed –

The moment of hesitation cost him dearly.

Barnes – the Winter Soldier went on the offensive and Tony stumbled back, unable to block fast enough to stop the rampage.

“Suit…uctural integr…45 per…”

“FRIDAY, analyze fighting pattern and start an offensive!” Tony shouted, his voice cracking under the deluge of punches.

He could hear Steve shouting and Nat groaning and the crackle of FRIDAY’s voice in his ear, flickering and faltering and –

“…arning…integri…23…”

Tony grabbed Barnes’ arm and tried to twist and –

_Crunch._

The sound of a child stepping on a toy. Or the Hulk, crushing a car between his fingers. Or the Winter Soldier, digging metal fingers into his arc reactor.

The crackle of FRIDAY’s voice, the controls, the display, the repulsors – everything cut out immediately.

Tony stumbled backwards and fell – the impact reverberated through his bones and he saw Barnes’ face through the eye slits – no, he saw the Winter Soldier, metal arm raised high – was this what his father had seen? Had this been the final moments of the _great_ Howard Stark? Like father, like son, in life and death.

Tony tried to throw off the Winter Soldier, tried to get back up in a suit that was little more than scrap metal, and managed to do nothing more than raise a gauntleted arm to block the Winter Soldier’s punch.

The man snarled and grabbed Tony’s arm, twisting – Tony screamed as the suit bent under the force of supersoldier strength – as something cracked, then _tore_ –

The Winter Soldier threw away the broken gauntlet, and Tony could swear he saw satisfaction in those dark eyes –

Red hair and a growl and the Soldier hissed, falling back to shake the Widow off of him. Tony took the distraction and searched for the release valves with the hand that was still working, scrambling out of the suit before it became his coffin.

A sharp cry – Nat – and a louder, harsher grunt as Tony rolled out of the suit and frantically pushed himself up. Nat stirred weakly in a pile of rubble, moaning softly, and T’Challa was fighting hand-to-hand with Barnes.

No, not Barnes. T’Challa had fought well against Barnes, against a man with military training whose only desire was to run away. He wasn’t faring so well against the assassin with a mission and Tony cast around the room for something, _anything_ he could use to defend himself, to put the Winter Soldier _down_ for good –

The doors. Tony could unlock the doors and make a break for his jet and – and then what? He didn’t have another suit of armor in his jet. And he couldn’t leave Nat and Steve long enough to get one.

_“Kill the Avengers,”_ Zemo had ordered. Not just the ones in the room. Tony thought of Sam and Rhodey, both injured and defenseless at the hospital. Of Barton, back with his wife and kids. Of – no, _no_ – of Peter, brightly smiling and almost bouncing in excitement.

No. They needed to stop the Winter Soldier _here_ , before he could hurt anyone else, before he could tear through the Avengers.

Tony looked up at Steve’s sharp cry. The Soldier had a hand fisted in bright, blond hair, his metal fist raised. Steve’s face was a mask of blood as he hung limp from the Soldier’s grasp. “Bucky,” he stuttered, “Bucky, it’s _me_ , Steve.”

The Winter Soldier did not care.

Tony ducked behind a wrecked pod – his watches, he still had his watches. He tapped the first one, curling the tech up and around his fingers and threw himself to the floor when the air shifted behind him. 

The Winter Soldier’s fist passed where his head had been and Tony scrambled away, fumbling as he fought to get upright again. The Winter Soldier followed, slowly, leisurely – Nat wasn’t moving, T’Challa lay limp at the base of the wall, and Steve was getting up far too slowly, blood dripping down his face.

Tony raised one gauntleted hand and fired – the Winter Soldier stumbled, and then just kept walking. Tony scrambled for the other gauntlet as he backed away, pressing his watch to activate it, his fingers slipping, sliding, he couldn’t find the catch, he –

His back hit the wall and Tony felt his stomach drop. The Winter Soldier continued his slow pace – the same pace he’d used when he’d walked around his parents’ car – his face blank and emotionless as he raised his metal fist.

And then Tony’s gaze was blocked by stars and stripes.

“Bucky, stop,” Steve said, hoarse. He had lost the shield and one arm was limp like it was broken. The Winter Soldier, curiously, halted.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Steve said, broken, and Tony wanted to scream at him because Barnes wasn’t going to break through at the sound of Steve’s voice, they had _tried_ that already and it wasn’t going to –

“But I will if I have to.” Steve curled his unbroken hand into a fist, and set his stance in front of Tony.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” he said softly, “But he’s my friend.”

Tony forgot how to breathe.

The Winter Soldier swung his metal fist and Steve blocked it, aiming a vicious kick at his midsection before jumping back, careful to stay between the Winter Soldier and a nearly defenseless Tony.

Tony abruptly remembered the other gauntlet and he activated it, ignoring the ragged throb of pain from his broken arm as he swung to aim it at the Winter Soldier – for all the good it would do. A whole suit hadn’t taken the Soldier down, and four superheroes couldn’t manage it even before the Soldier threw them around like they were toys.

T’Challa was still not moving and Tony had no idea where Zemo was and Nat – Nat was moving, crawling across wire and broken glass, aiming for – for the shield.

Steve fell to one knee with a grunt and Tony took the opportunity, blasting at the Winter Soldier in a continuous sequence to hold him at bay long enough to –

“Steve!” Nat shouted, and Steve turned – and Tony kept firing – and the Soldier struggled forward a step – and Steve caught the shield – and Tony paused – and Steve swung.

The Winter Soldier dropped with a heavy grunt.

* * *

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was harsh breathing.

“Bucky?” Steve said plaintively. The shield dropped from limp fingers as Steve half-collapsed to his knees.

Tony stumbled forward, repulsors at the ready, as the Winter Soldier groaned and shifted. “Steve?” Barnes mumbled.

Steve made a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh and slumped further. “Zemo,” Tony rasped, because Barnes was a threat as long as the trigger words were out there.

“Gone,” Nat replied.

He could come back. And ten Russian words later, Barnes would become a killing machine again.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, watching Tony fiddle with his gauntlets. He needed to set them to sonic pulses. He didn’t quite care if he got the frequency wrong.

“Temporary deafening,” Tony said, dropping next to Barnes. His heart crawled in his throat as he leaned over the man that had nearly killed him – but Barnes just watched him as Tony settled his gauntlets over his ears. “I hope you know sign language.”

One pulse should be enough. Barnes screwed up his face for a moment before his expression eased. There was blood dripping from both his ears when Tony removed his hands.

Barnes twisted his head quizzically. “Can’t hear,” he said, too quiet, and blinked, shaking his head as if to get water out of his ears.

“Was that really necessary, Tony?” Steve asked quietly.

Tony would’ve bristled at that – of _course_ every safety precaution Tony wanted was unnecessary in Steve’s eyes – but he remembered stars and stripes filling his view. His shield.

_“He’s my friend.”_

So, just this once, Tony wasn’t going to say a word about how Steve and Bucky’s fingers were entwined, metal curled around blue gloves like it was the only thing keeping them grounded.

He staggered to his feet and hobbled his way to Natasha, who had managed to pull herself upright with a jagged piece of metal. She was clutching her side and there was blood dripping down from a cut on her face.

“You good?” Tony asked lowly. 

She nodded. “Check on the king,” she said, tilting her head to the dark mass at the base of the wall. It was shifting, so at least Barnes didn’t have regicide hanging over him.

Tony kept his distance – waking up superheroes was always a dicey prospect, and Tony hovered in T’Challa’s field of view until the man turned towards him.

“Stark?” came the voice, accent thicker as it slurred.

“Brought Barnes back,” Tony said quietly, cognizant of the fact that T’Challa probably had a concussion, “No idea where Zemo is. Can you stand?”

T’Challa groaned. It transpired that he _could_ stand – or at least pull himself upright and lean against the wall – but walking was another matter. Tony staggered under the man’s weight – and wow, all those sleepless nights had really taken their toll – exhaustion hitting him hard as the adrenaline wound down. They barely managed to make it to the doors before Tony stumbled to a halt, the arm around his shoulders a leaden weight.

“Here,” Steve said, always the goddamn martyr, stepping forward to shoulder T’Challa’s weight and let Tony stagger free. Bucky was leaning against the wall, hunched in on himself, and Natasha was eyeing the doors like she was imagining how easily the Hulk would’ve smashed them.

“Give me a moment,” Tony groaned. His injured arm was tucked tight against his chest, and it was awkward to break open the keypad with only one hand, but he managed. He found the right wires and bent down to tear them out with his teeth, clasping their ends together.

The doors opened with a hiss.

They made a sorry party as they staggered out of the bunker – seven working legs and five working arms and several contusions among them. Zemo could’ve probably taken them out with a single gun.

Tony wasn’t sure if he was supporting someone or someone was supporting him, but there was an arm around his shoulders and a hand curled around his uninjured arm and they plodded forward like a multi-limbed turtle taking slow, jerky steps.

The blast of cold air almost sent Tony staggering back – he had definitely _not_ dressed for hiking in Siberia – and all of them paused at the sight that awaited them.

It looked like Zemo had used his gun for other purposes.

“I have coffee in my jet,” Tony croaked, and the others seized the topic and steered away from the bloodstained snow, heading for Tony’s jet.

It was warm inside, and arms and limbs disentangled as they all separated. Nat collapsed into the first seat she found, and Steve helped T’Challa into the second. Bucky stayed leaning against the wall as Tony searched for his glasses – the jet was not big enough to hold five people, it had barely been big enough for three, but this was not the time for minor squabbles about personal space.

“Medkit’s in that cabinet,” Tony rasped, and Steve reached for it, because of course it was the two supersoldiers that had recovered the fastest.

He found an earpiece and slipped it in. “FRIDAY, status update,” he ordered hoarsely. Steve was staring into the medkit, dazed and unfocused – there was nothing in there strong enough to treat T’Challa’s concussion, or Nat’s bleeding, or the broken bones. “And get me a route to the nearest hospital that won’t bring Ross down on our heads.”

God, Tony didn’t even want to _start_ thinking about how to deal with this mess. He sank into the remaining seat and dug the heel of his uninjured hand into the corner of his eye as FRIDAY talked into his ear. 

They needed to get T’Challa and Nat to a hospital. His suit was still in the bunker – and so was evidence that all of them had blatantly ignored the Accords. The remains of five supersoldiers – Tony was not going to rule out the possibility that the serum could be reverse engineered from what little remained. The base itself was once HYDRA, and it needed to be dismantled. Zemo’s body, another casualty of Ultron. He had to find somewhere to stash Steve and Barnes while he arranged a proper trial. And – wait, what the hell did FRIDAY just say?

“Repeat that, FRIDAY,” Tony said with a calm he didn’t feel, jolting upright. “ _What_ about Secretary Ross and an underwater prison?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief, implied reference to racism.

Ross had slunk in immediately after Tony had left, and Sam had managed to keep a convincingly innocent expression on his face as he reassured the Secretary that yes, of course he’d signed the Accords, and he had tried to convince his friends to come in quietly, he really had, and wasn’t it a shame that they hadn’t listened.

The words felt sour in his mouth, but it had been worth it to see Ross leave, looking like he was chewing on a lemon.

Rhodey crept – wheeled himself in after that, and Sam winced at the sight of the cast covering his leg.

“He’s oozing around like slime,” Rhodey said, shutting the door behind him and shuddering, “Trying to find Rogers and Barnes. You should’ve seen him stalking Tony’s footsteps.”

Sam tried for a commiserating smile, but it came out as a grimace.

Rhodey settled into the corner, raising his uninjured leg to settle it on Sam’s bed and leaning back with a sigh.

“You know where he went?” Rhodey asked quietly.

Sam winced again.

“After Rogers and Barnes, then,” Rhodey concluded, eyeing Sam with a disconcertingly sharp expression. “You don’t look very happy.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Sam snapped.

“Why’d they run?” Rhodey asked, looking genuinely curious.

Sam sighed, and gave him the highlights – Zemo, the supersoldiers, the brainwashing – without mentioning Siberia or the Winter Soldier. When he finished, Rhodey’s eyebrows had almost disappeared.

He let a low whistle when Sam was done. “Why didn’t you – they just _explain_ that? We could’ve gotten approval from the U.N. to go after them.”

“On the word of a formerly brainwashed HYDRA supersoldier who escaped custody after presumably blowing up the U.N.?” Sam asked skeptically, “The Accords would’ve never let them go. And we were running out of time.”

“Fair enough,” Rhodey subsided, “It’s a good thing Tony went after them – I mean, it’s obviously a trap.”

A mirthless smile curved Sam’s lips. _A good thing_. No, it’d been a _horrible_ idea, Sam should’ve never opened his mouth to begin with.

“You’re…not happy,” Rhodey said, frowning. Sam groaned and pushed further back into his pillows. “What – did you think Rogers and Barnes could take down five supersoldiers by themselves?”

“I’m not sure Tony is going after them to _help_ ,” Sam said delicately.

When he turned his head, he was met with Rhodey’s level, disappointed gaze. “Tony helped _you_ ,” Rhodey said quietly and Sam flinched at the reproach in his tone. “He didn’t have to. He could’ve let Ross cart you off for breaking the Accords. The Accords are here to _help_. Tony’s not the enemy.”

“I didn’t – it’s not that,” Sam said, staring at the cast around his broken arm, “It’s not – I’m very grateful – it’s not about the Accords.”

“Then what _is_ it about?”

“It’s not my secret to tell,” Sam said quietly, picking at the threads of the hospital blanket. 

“But you told it to Tony?”

Sam snorted, and raised his gaze, “Have you ever tried to keep a secret from Tony Stark?”

Rhodey laughed, conceding the point.

“And you think – what? Tony is going to arrest Rogers and Barnes because of this secret you don’t want to tell me?” Rhodey asked.

Sam winced again. “Something like that,” he said. No, he didn’t think _arrest_ was what was on Tony’s mind. _Murder_ might be more apt.

But Tony had said that Zemo’s supersoldiers were a bigger threat. Sam had to hold on to that, on to that last glimmer of hope, as faint as it may be.

“I’m sure it will work out,” Rhodey said quietly, “Tony – people all over the world have a lot to say about Tony Stark. About Iron Man. About ego and arrogance and narcissism and war-mongering. But they don’t _know_ Tony. He’s a good man, and he always puts his friends first.”

“Yeah.” Sam knew that. It was just difficult to put his trust in it. “Are we still in Germany?” he asked, scanning their surroundings. There was a lot of green outside the window, and flowers in a pot on the windowsill.

Rhodey made a face. “Yeah,” he said, “We’re probably stuck here until Tony gets back and airlifts us to the US.”

Sam smiled, “Well, if you go get another suit of armor, and I find out what happened to my wings, we can fly ourselves back across the Atlantic.”

Rhodey chuckled, “Yeah, one dead suit of armor and one busted-up set of wings.” Sam grimaced at the reminder. “We’d probably end up clinging to a raft in the middle of the ocean and I, for one, do _not_ want to see the look on Tony’s face when he comes to rescue –”

The door swung open and four soldiers stepped inside. “You’re being transferred,” one of them said.

Both their smiles died.

“Transferred?” Rhodey said lightly, “So soon? Is Tony back, then?”

“You’re being transferred,” they repeated.

Sam exchanged a glance with Rhodey. “Is Tony Stark back?” Rhodey repeated, louder, “Because I don’t know who you guys are and I’m not following you anywhere.”

“No need to get so melodramatic, Rhodes,” Ross said as he entered the room. His frustrated snarl had been replaced with a smirk. “We’re taking you back to the homeland, that’s all. Get you boys the treatment you deserve.”

“Tony –”

“Stark isn’t here,” Ross cut him off, “And so I decided to step in and safeguard the interests of the Avengers.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Sam said, twitching useless fingers as he eyed the four soldiers. Beside him, Rhodey slipped his foot off the bed, his hands tight on the arms of the wheelchair. “But I’m enjoying the hospitality over here and –”

“I think you’ve gotten a bit confused, Wilson,” Ross said, “This isn’t a request.” He smiled and threw a bound sheaf of papers at them. “You should really be more careful of what you sign.”

* * *

“If you have any way of contacting Tony, now would be a really good time,” Sam murmured to Rhodey as they were escorted onto the jet. No one had slapped chains on them yet, but it was only a matter of time. Ross looked like the cat who’d caught the canary, and his satisfaction was making Sam shiver.

“I will make sure to tell Tony to include trackers in hospital gowns in the future,” Rhodey murmured back, nearly knocking into Sam as he stumbled.

“Is this really in the Accords?” Sam asked as they boarded the plane. Ross smiled as they were buckled into their seats. “Can he just…kidnap us?”

Rhodey was silent for a long moment. “There’s a line about the designation of a medical proxy if no Avenger is available.”

Sam cursed and let his head hit the headrest. The painkillers were beginning to wear off and his ribs were starting to throb. One glance at Rhodey’s pinched face made it clear that he was in the same situation.

Their flight was both boring – long and mind-numbing – terrifying – Sam shuddered every time Ross glanced back at them, as if to reassure himself that they were still there – and painful – every time they hit turbulence Sam felt like someone was hammering steel spikes into his chest.

All in all, Sam was relieved when they finally landed. He stumbled off of the jet, trying to quell his nausea – which was not helped by the sea spray – and kept his broken arm curled into his side as he limped after Ross.

One look at Rhodey’s face and Sam felt the pit of his stomach drop.

“What is it?” he hissed as they followed Ross towards a set of stairs leading deeper under…ground? Sam was abruptly aware that they were standing on a rock in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight.

“This is the Raft,” Rhodey whispered back, and Sam could hear the capital letter in his tone. He hobbled forward, helped by a blank-faced soldier, as they took the stairs down.

“Okay, and what does that mean for those of us who aren’t up to date on US military facilities?” Sam whispered back –

He caught the railing with a strangled cry as the floor shifted underneath him. The trapdoor sealed itself off and Ross watched them with a self-satisfied smile as the ground vibrated. Sam had the crazy feeling that they were _sinking_.

“This isn’t a hospital, Sam,” Rhodey hissed, “This is a _prison_.”

Sam uncurled his fingers from the railing, swallowed, and followed Ross’ ever-growing smirk.

He led them into a room with two padded chairs hooked up to what looked like a heart monitor. Rhodey stumbled when he entered the room, hitting the ground with a sharp cry and Sam twisted, his heart caught in his throat –

But the soldier just pulled him up and helped him hobble to a chair. Sam took the other, perching on the very edge of the seat. He couldn’t see any bars or chains but two soldiers took up guard at the corners of the room while Ross paced in front of them.

“Where is Tony Stark?” No pleasantries then.

Sam didn’t look at Rhodey. “We have no idea,” he said, as levelly as he could manage. His ribs felt like splinters shoved under his skin and his arm was throbbing, something wrenched out of alignment when he’d caught the railing. “We left Germany before he could get back, remember?”

Ross nodded agreeably. “Where is Steve Rogers?” he asked.

“Last saw him in Leipzig,” Rhodey answered, “We were a bit preoccupied with not dying to figure out where they went.”

Ross kept nodding. Sam’s throat was dry and tight.

“Where is James Barnes?” he asked.

“Probably with Steve,” Sam said quietly.

Ross nodded again. He didn’t look like he was listening to their answers.

“I’m going ask another time,” he said quietly, “We’re on the same side, here.” Sam resisted the urge to tell him that usually people on the same side didn’t lock each other up. “Where is Tony Stark?”

“I have no goddamn –”

His teeth slammed into each other, narrowly missing his tongue as he went rigid. Fire coursed through him and a spike drove through his shoulder, locking it into position. He shuddered and writhed but he couldn’t shout, he couldn’t even _scream_ because he was frozen, trapped, paralyzed and it _burned_ through him –

It stopped and Sam hit the ground. He could hear his own wet, ragged gasps, could hear the blood dripping out of his mouth to splatter on the cold tile. His shoulder and his arm pulsed in a discordant rhythm and he forced himself to take deep breaths despite the stab of agony every time he inhaled.

“You fucking bastard,” Rhodey hissed and Sam tried to get up but his fingers spasmed in aftershocks and his arms trembled at the thought of bearing his weight.

Ross solved that problem for him easily enough. Sam bit off a cry as he was picked off the floor and manhandled back into the chair, straps pulled tight to lock his arms and legs. Rhodey seethed from his own chair – they had left the cast free, but that wasn’t a blessing.

“I’m going to keep asking,” Ross said, “And every time I don’t get an answer, I’m going to turn the dial up.” He looked at Sam’s chair and smiled, “That one’s intended for Captain America. Enough voltage to bring down an elephant, though we can adjust it if we need more.”

If. They. Need. _More_.

“Get to test out the Captain’s digs, huh?” Sam said shakily, “I guess today’s my lucky day.”

Ross turned to Rhodey’s chair, “And _that_ one’s for the Maximoff girl. ECT’s done wonders in medicine – maybe it can shock the magic out of her.”

Sam started at Rhodey’s chair and saw his revulsion reflected in his teammate’s eyes. He imagined Wanda writhing in that chair, screaming, and had to fight not to retch.

“She’s just a kid,” Rhodey breathed out, horrified, “You _monster_.”

“Let me guess,” Sam rasped, turning back to Ross, “Hail HYDRA.”

Ross stared blankly at him for a moment, before he threw his head back and laughed. Sam watched him, his gaze hard, and imagined Wanda tearing him to pieces. Or Steve smashing his stupid, sneering face in with the shield. Hell, he’d even take Barnes at this point, sinking a metal fist into Ross’ too-satisfied face.

“Oh, no, Wilson,” Ross said, still chuckling, “HYDRA and SHIELD and the Avengers – they’re the _problems_. And none of them would exist without the others. Superheroes aren’t fairy tales,” Ross said. He’d stopped smiling. “They’re _nightmares_.”

“So this is, what? A crusade?” Rhodey snarled, “Getting rid of the Avengers? And what happens when another Loki opens another wormhole in the sky?”

Ross gave him a pitying look. “The Avengers draw the crazies out, Rhodes. It’s nothing personal. It’s just that you people don’t belong here.”

Sam laughed. The sound was high and unamused. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard _that_ line of rhetoric,” he said.

Ross’ face twisted. It was ugly. “Where is Tony Stark?”

Sam kept laughing until he choked on it.

* * *

“FRIDAY, I’m not exactly running on all cylinders right now, so take it from the top, and _slowly_ ,” Tony said, fumbling for his glasses. Bucky was staring at him, eyes narrowed like he was trying to read Tony’s lips, and Nat was blinking in his general direction.

“Wait – wait – Sam and Rhodey are supposed to be in a hospital in Leipzig,” Tony said, cutting her off. Steve snapped up at that, dropping a roll of gauze.

“You’re not making any sense,” Tony said. His glasses had to be here somewhere. He needed the visuals because he couldn’t understand what FRIDAY was saying. “Secretary Ross doesn’t have the authority to move them.”

FRIDAY patiently explained that he did. Everyone was staring at him now. Even T’Challa had taken off his helmet and was watching Tony intently.

FRIDAY’s next words didn’t make any sense. None. Tony refused to believe them. She – she must’ve glitched, something must’ve gone wrong in the code or his brain – yes, he must’ve misheard her, courtesy of one too many knocks to the head –

“Torture?” he repeated quietly. There was a sudden hush.

“Yes, sir,” FRIDAY repeated patiently, “Analysis of the video recording shows the Falcon and War Machine being tortured by Secretary Ross for your whereabouts and the whereabouts of Captain America and the Winter Soldier.”

“FRIDAY, I –”

“Sam’s being tortured?” Steve asked, wild-eyed. Tony nodded, opening his mouth, but Steve talked over him. “Where is he?” Tony tried to speak but Steve pressed forward, nearly boxing Tony into his chair, his blue eyes wide and frantic. “Tony, we _have_ to go after them, damn the Accords, they’re our teammates, we have to –”

Tony found his voice. “If you would give me _ten seconds_ to _figure out where they are_!”

Steve snapped his mouth shut, and slumped back against the side of the ship. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, burying his head in his hands. Barnes patted his arm, though Tony was unclear on how much of the situation he actually understood.

“Of course we’re going after them,” Tony croaked, “FRIDAY, I want a location and a sitrep, _now_. And give me the highlights on what I missed.”

He found his glasses and pushed them on, listening to FRIDAY as he flicked through a video of Rhodey and Sam being escorted out of the hospital, then boarding a plane with Ross – neither of them looking pleased to be there. And finally, footage from what appeared to be the button tracker he’d tagged Rhodey’s cast with, though it looked like it’d been thrown into a corner because the angle was all wrong.

Tony’s jaw grew tighter and tighter as the torture played out. Ross was unstable. And now he had two of Tony’s friends at his mercy.

“The Raft,” Tony said out loud, as FRIDAY caught him up on what else was going on. She’d leaked the tracker footage when she’d been unable to reach him, and several news outlets had picked up the story with horrified delight.

“I thought that was supposed to be a prison,” Nat said, frowning. Steve was attempting to bandage the wound on her stomach. “For the worst of the worst.”

“Clearly Ross has other ideas,” Tony said, trying to think through the haze. He was exhausted, but one thought was clear – Ross was going to _pay_.

And then Tony was going to get Rhodey and Sam and all the people he cared about, gather them in the Avengers compound, lock the doors, and station the Iron Legion outside.

It was a clear course of action. Tony looked up at Steve and Barnes. “Are you going to take the Quinjet you came in?”

Steve looked dryly at the jam-packed cockpit, “That would probably be best.”

“Alright, I’ll connect FRIDAY to you and key in the coordinates – the Raft is a floating prison in the Atlantic Ocean, manned by US military.” Steve nodded and headed out, taking Barnes with him.

Tony busied himself with tracking down the specs for the prison and highlighting potential entry points and defense systems they had to watch out for, and forwarded that to Steve and Barnes as well, before handing a copy on a tablet to Natasha.

“Can you hear us? Tony?”

“Loud and clear, Cap,” Tony said, readying preparations for take-off. He winced as he attempted to reach for something with his injured arm before aborting the action. He glanced at Nat, who was still bleeding, and T’Challa, grimacing as he attempted to read the tablet in her hands.

“Anyone has any friends they’d like to bring to the party?” Tony asked, “I don’t know if three and a half Avengers is going to cut it.”

“Barton?” Nat suggested. Tony groaned, but tossed her a phone.

“The Dora Milaje,” T’Challa said, “If we land in Germany, I can bring my own jet.”

“Pit-stop in Germany it is,” Tony said. He had a few loose ends to tie up there as well.

“Nat,” Barton’s voice crackled through the phone’s speakers, “I would love to chat but I’m a little busy right now.”

“I take it you’ve seen the news?” Tony called out as the jet took off. Behind them, the other Quinjet rose into the air.

“Yeah, and where the hell were you?” Barton called back and Tony scowled.

“We were a bit busy, Clint,” Nat said softly, “Some supersoldiers to take care of.”

“Tony,” Steve’s voice came through the comm, “Zemo?”

Tony had the urge to laugh. “Just this once,” he said, staring out into the white expanse and trying not to revisit the clip of Rhodey screaming, “Let it be someone else’s problem.”

“You look like shit, Nat.” Ah, Barton. As charming as ever.

“That’s how all these things start,” Steve said, and Tony could almost imagine his patented Captain America Frown.

“I feel like shit,” Nat said, “You ready for a prison break?”

“Nat, I swear to god, if you say a _single_ thing about Budapest –”

“Look, Cap, Zemo’s dead,” Tony sighed, “And I’m tired.” Silence. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I can send a rocket to blow the whole thing up.”

Steve huffed and ended the connection. Tony almost smiled. “Tony, should we get Vision too?” Nat asked, and Tony spun around to face her.

“Tell Barton he’s a shit liar and a horrible spy and we all know that he’s got both Vision and Wanda with him,” Tony informed her, “And tell him I’m sending the coordinates now.”

“Tell Tony it was _his_ idea to trust Ross!” Barton retorted, a parting shot before Natasha ended the call.

Tony stared into the white expanse as the Siberian countryside gave way to open skies, the livestream of the tracker footage still playing out in front of him.

“I’m well aware,” he said softly.

* * *

“Where. Is. Tony. Stark.”

“Behind you!” Rhodey gasped out. Ross, the fool, _actually turned._

Sam’s laughter was drowned out in shrieks as Ross punished them both for that, but it had totally been worth it.

Sam came down from the buzzing, his jaw aching and his muscles spasming. There was a cramp in his right calf and he hissed as it locked up, tightening painfully.

“All of this can stop,” Ross said quietly, “As soon as you tell me where the renegades are.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever once been called a renegade,” Sam said dejectedly, “Why is it always Stark and Cap that get the cool nicknames?”

“You’re not getting out of this, Wilson,” Ross snapped, “I’m not quite sure why you don’t seem to understand. A few more smart answers, and the current will be high enough to mess with your heart. And then we’ll start playing Russian roulette with the questions.”

“I’m not quite sure why _you_ don’t seem to understand,” Rhodey said, his voice flat, “You’re never going to get away with this. Tony is going to find us.”

Ross smirked.

“He is,” Rhodey said, his voice stronger, “He’s _Tony Stark_. The guy built Iron Man out of scrap metal in a desert. You think it’s going to take him that long to find an underwater prison?”

Ross didn’t say anything, just kept smirking.

“A trap,” Sam said, surprised that his sluggish thought processes had taken so long to arrive at the conclusion. “This is a trap, and we’re the bait. You want him here. And Steve. It’s so much _easier_ for you if they come themselves.”

“You’re very sharp, Wilson,” Ross said, shaking his head, “It’s a shame you picked the wrong side.” He nodded to one of the soldiers to open the door. “I’ll get them, one way or another. Make it easy on yourselves, boys.” He nodded at both of them, “I’ll give you two some time to think about it.”

Rhodey waited until the man left the room before cursing. “These straps are ridiculously tight,” he snarled.

“Designed for supersoldier strength,” Sam said dully. The ceiling was white, not a speck of dirt on it. He shuddered as another spasm ran through him, biting his lip as it jarred his ribs.

“Tony will come and find us,” Rhodey said quietly.

“If the supersoldiers haven’t gotten him,” Sam pointed out. Maybe the world was already ending, and they were the last to know.

“He’ll come,” Rhodey repeated sharply.

Sam wondered who’d painted the ceilings white. Who had cleaned it, if anyone. Who’d installed the chairs they were sitting on, who’d connected the current to them. If they had known what they were doing. If they’d balked at installing a torture device intended to be used on a national icon. If they’d balked at designing a torture device for a teenager.

“Is this a good time to say I’m sorry?” Sam asked. He wanted to apologize once before Ross electrocuted them to death. He could still see Riley dropping out of the sky, bound in Iron Man armor, and Rhodey spiraling to the ground as useless wings fluttered behind him.

The ground got closer each time.

“Sorry for what?” Rhodey asked.

“For – for ducking. It’s my fault that it hit you. That you fell. You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t ducked. _I_ wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t ducked,” Sam huffed a short, mirthless laugh.

“It’s not your fault,” Rhodey said levelly.

“It is. Ross wouldn’t have gotten his hands on us otherwise,” Sam said, still staring at the ceiling, “All for the sake of a stupid fight in an airport.”

“You tried to catch me,” Rhodey pointed out, “You saved my life, Sam. And I was the one who asked Vision to shoot your wings. So, if we’re assigning blame, then it’s my fault we’re here.”

“50/50?” Sam offered.

Rhodey laughed, “How about we blame it all on Ross?”

“Sound plan,” Sam groaned, straightening up as something dug deeper in his chest. “Does the guy seriously think we’re considering –”

The room shook. Sam automatically caught the armrests, before the rest of his brain caught up and reminded him that he was strapped to a chair that was welded to the floor.

“What was that?” Rhodey asked, just as the room shook again. The building was vibrating around them, and Sam was abruptly concerned for the structural integrity of their underwater prison.

“Water and electricity sound like a really bad combination,” Sam said, tugging harder at the straps. He attempted to bend down to tear at them with his teeth, but his ribs and shoulder fiercely protested the action and he slumped back with a low hiss.

His panic was only exacerbated when Ross burst back into the room, his face red and set into a snarl.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, the same time as Rhodey’s scoff, “I told you Tony would find us.”

“Stark doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Ross snapped, but Sam saw him flinch as the door was smashed through.

The first person through was Steve and Sam felt his knot of dread loosen. It may have been childish, but there was still a part of him that saw the stars and stripes and thought that everything would be okay –

And the blood. And bruises. Sam blinked, his relief stuttering as various Avengers filtered into the room in an array of disrepair.

Steve’s face was black and blue, and one of his arms was limp. Barnes’ hair was matted with blood. The Black Panther was being supported by what looked like one of his bodyguards, and the other sported a black eye and a cut along her arm. Natasha was pale, and hovering at Clint’s six. Wanda was shivering in place, and the Spider-kid was limping. Vision was the only one who looked untouched, though he winced when he caught sight of Sam and Rhodey’s injuries.

Tony was the last one into the room, and the faceplate slipped off to reveal a face that had accumulated a significant amount of bruises in the span of a few hours. But he turned his back to Barnes easily enough and Sam let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Ross smiled, a slight twitch of the lips as he beheld the sorry assortment of superheroes in front of him.

“Thank you, Stark,” he said quietly, “For bringing everyone to my door. Truly a wonderful gift.”

“As a parting one, I’ll tear this place to pieces and return it to the sea,” Tony snapped, “I have no idea what’s going on in your head, Ross, but you really didn’t think this through. Half the world is already calling for your head, and the other half is still compiling charges.”

Ross lost part of his smile. “What are you talking about?”

“It seems like a little birdie was filming this whole set-up,” Tony waved a hand around the room, levelling a disgusted look at the dials, “And the whole world’s watching. Say hello,” Tony waggled his fingers at a corner near the door.

The door that Rhodey had stumbled through.

Ross’ face paled, then reddened, before smoothening out. Sam felt dread pool in his stomach.

“If I go down, Stark,” he said softly, “Then you go down with me.” He pressed a button and Sam flinched automatically, but it wasn’t the one connected to the electricity. Instead, a recorded message began playing over the intercom.

“Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать.” Sam stared, puzzled, as Ross’ expression became a touch more smug. “Рассвет. Печь. Девять.”

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_. Oh, shit, _that was Russian_.

“Доброкачественный. Возвращение на родину. Один.”

“The trigger words,” Sam tried to shout over the intercom, staring at Steve, begging him to understand, “The Winter Soldier conditioning!” 

But Steve wasn’t looking at him. Barnes wasn’t looking at him. And Ross’ smile grew.

“Грузовой вагон.”

The words died into silence.

“ _Soldat_ ,” Ross smiled, “Ready to comply?”

No. No, _no_ , the Winter Soldier was going to tear all of them apart, they were all injured to begin with, they barely stood a chance, and _why_ was _no one_ reacting?

“You know,” Tony said quietly, with an expression that looked like he had aged ten years, “That explains so much.”

“Kill them,” Ross said, “Kill the Avengers. Every last one of them!”

Barnes didn’t move. Merely stared around the room, with the same expression of mild confusion he’d been wearing since Sam had met him, as if he had no idea where he was or what he was doing.

“Soldier!” Ross snarled, louder, “Kill the Avengers!”

Barnes shifted slightly, and Sam could see streaks of red trailing from his ears.

“You can keep shouting, but it won’t make a difference,” Tony said, tired, “He can’t hear you.”

Ross stared at him. Barnes shifted again, making no move to attack any Avenger in the room.

“The game’s up, Ross,” Tony said, levelling a repulsor at him, “Now, I’ve had a very long day and I’m not in the mood for your tantrums. Come quietly.”

“Quietly,” Ross repeated, in the same dangerous tone he’d used when he’d brought Sam and Rhodey here in the first place.

Sam couldn’t unstick his tongue fast enough to call out a warning and Ross slammed his hands on the dials.

The world went _white_ with a high-pitched whine.

* * *

The first thing to break through the pain – fire, fire, _fire_ , everything was burning, everything was _screaming_ – was the sounds. Harsh, fluttering gasps in tune with the spikes radiating out from his chest. Shouts he couldn’t decipher, voices that became shriller and angrier. Something breaking, a soft, wet _crunch_.

“Sam? Sam, can you hear me? Yes, those straps – carefully – injured, shoulder and arm – yes, get the legs too – Sam?”

The bands of pressure around his limbs abruptly loosened and he braced himself to fall – but he wasn’t falling. There was something warm under his head and something hard and cold around his back. It shifted, and he could smell leather and blood and sweat.

“Sam? Sam, can you hear me? He’s still breathing – heart rate is stabilizing – Sam?”

His name was Sam. His name was Sam Wilson, the Falcon. Avenger.

His mouth tasted of pennies, thick and sticky.

“Sam? Should we get him out of – just wait – _why_ does it go so high, I don’t – should’ve shot him before he had the chance to – Sam?”

He was getting tired of listening to his name. He tried to say _‘yes, I can hear you’_ , but it came out as an unrecognizable mumble.

“Sam?” The warmth was cocooning him, leeching away some of the pain as the sounds branched out into explosions and shouts and creaks. The floor was shuddering. Or was that him? “Sam, can you hear me?”

“Steve,” Sam tried, and was pleasantly surprised when it came out more or less correct. There was a sudden loss of tension in the warmth around him.

“Yes, Sam, it’s Steve,” the words were murmured quietly. Sam was thankful. He had a raging headache that was only getting worse as the buzzing faded. “Can you get up?”

Sam made a sound that was half-scoff, half-laugh. 

“Alright, that’s okay. Do you think you lift your head up? Bucky and I can support you.” Sam tried, flinching back at the stark _white_ that remained. Red lights were flickering in the corridor, and it made his head spin.

But Steve’s face was in his view, bright and worried, and the cold and hard thing around his back was Barnes’ arm, and Sam let himself be pulled upright, a doll in the hands of two supersoldiers.

His neck creaked when he tried to turn his head. “Rhodey,” Sam rasped, “Where is –”

“We got him out too,” Steve said, steering Sam towards the door, “Wanda destroyed the machine and Vision apprehended Ross.” Sam made a sound of acknowledgement as he was maneuvered through the doorway. “We did, uh, damage the facility when we were trying to get inside and we need to get out before…before, well…”

“Predi–” The word stuttered on Sam’s lips. “Predil–” He gave up. “Blowing things up, Rogers?” he said as he was supported up a flight of stairs, “Barnes is a bad influence.”

Steve laughed at that, clear and sharp, and Sam felt something in his heart loosen. “Don’t mention that to him once he can hear again.”

Sam felt the sting of salt spray on his face as they emerged into darkness, the sleek outline of four jets visible against the night sky. He shivered, and Steve quickly helped him towards one of the planes.

“Everyone – everyone’s good?” Sam asked weakly as he was strapped into a seat. He froze for a second, remembering a blank-faced soldier buckling him in the same way, but Steve’s blue eyes were hovering in front of him, bright and shining.

“Yes, everyone’s fine,” Steve smiled at him, “We’re heading back to the compound, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam said, sliding deeper into exhaustion as Steve left him and strapped into the pilot’s seat. Barnes took the seat next to him, buckling in as the plane began to lift off.

Sam tensed, the vibrations jostling the breaks, but Steve flew steadily and carefully, and the lull soon sent him drifting off to unconsciousness.

* * *

Vision had been dispatched to drop Ross off to the armed guards that had awaited him – the President had taken poorly to seeing his Secretary of State torturing the guy that had once saved his life – mainly because no one else would be able to resist _accidentally_ dropping Ross into the ocean. And perhaps accidentally not fishing him out again and shooting some accidental bullets into him.

T’Challa and his retinue had departed back to Wakanda, but the rest of them were flying straight to the Avengers compound, all crammed into three jets. Tony had FRIDAY copy everything on Ross’ server and flag anything that needed immediate priority, though Tony was too exhausted to do anything about it.

Getting to the Raft had been easy. Vision had hacked into their systems and forced the Raft back up, and then they’d busted down the trapdoor. There was only a skeleton crew in the facility – it wasn’t in use, not yet, not for its intended purpose anyway, and there was nothing that could really stand against a determined force of Avengers, even ones that were injured and exhausted.

And then.

Then Ross.

Tony had to compartmentalize that, had to shove it in a box and lock it away because he didn’t have the mental energy to walk down the paths and make the right conclusions and it would spiral into another burden on his back, because most of the problems they’d faced could be laid at his feet.

And he didn’t have the strength to bear it. Not now. Not so soon after seeing Rhodey seize up, writhing in the chair he was strapped to, because Tony had taunted Ross instead of freeing his friend –

No. He wasn’t going down there. Rhodey was in a seat behind him, alive and whole. There would be doctors at the compound.

Tony tapped at the screen, activating the Iron Legion as they got closer to the compound. There weren’t many suits left after the debacle of Ultron, but there were enough to stand guard. Or at least to give them advance warning.

“FRIDAY, turning controls over to you,” he said tiredly as they finally landed. Steve’s and Barton’s jets landed as well, and the compound twinkled in the distance. “Override powers go only to Pepper.”

“Yes, boss,” FRIDAY said.

He turned – he had to get Rhodey, had to help him off the jet, and faltered when he saw that Natasha and Peter were already supporting him, the kid talking a mile a minute as Nat stared at him, bemused.

Tony limped after them, almost stumbling when he hit the grass. The cold night air washed over him and he groaned. There was still so much to do – Zemo, he had to send someone after Zemo and the base in Siberia. He needed to make sure that Ross didn’t slither his way out of trouble. The Accords – had they been tainted from the start? Tainted, the same way everything he touched was, stained by war and greed and –

His steps faltered, but someone darted under his uninjured arm, wrapping an arm around his waist and grounding him. Spices and roses. He turned, grimacing, to see dark hair and an uncertain expression.

“You look like shit, Stark,” Wanda said.

“Some of these bruises are because of you,” Tony grumbled, but let her steer him towards the compound. Barton had taken Nat’s place at Rhodey’s side and Steve was carrying Sam, Barnes trailing behind him. Dr. Cho was already on the lawn, her team waiting for the influx of patients. “I was thinking of getting you a car, but now I see that you have no idea what to do with one.”

“You were going to get me a car?” Wanda asked, amused.

Tony listed all the bells and whistles she would no longer be getting, and continued, “In fact, you’re grounded. No leaving your room, missy. Actually –” He spotted Peter, and hit upon a _fantastic_ idea. “Grounding is too good for you. What you need is an actual punishment.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Tony grinned, “I don’t think homeschooling is working out, Little Miss Rebel. You need teachers, and structure, and _homework_. In fact,” he stared directly at Peter, “I happen to know the _perfect_ school in the city.”

Spiderman choked and nearly tripped on empty air. Tony suppressed his chuckle.

Wanda stopped and he jerked to a halt. She ducked out from under his arm and stared at him, eyes shining suspiciously bright. “You mean it?” she asked, “I get to go to school?”

Tony had already been congratulating himself on his genius – school would be a great way to keep Wanda out of trouble and show the world that she was still a _kid_ – but he faltered at the naked longing in Wanda’s eyes. He hadn’t – he had never thought – he had never really asked her what she wanted, had he.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice soft. Wanda beamed at him, her eyes glittering and –

“Ow, Wanda, _ow_ – my ribs, please,” Tony was not in a position to dislodge the teenage superhero from his probably-not-broken-but-definitely-bruised ribs, and he yelped as she squeezed _harder_ under a stream of ‘thank-you’s. “Yes, okay, you’re welcome, ow, please stop – Wanda, _my ribs_.”

She released him, laughing, and ducked under his arm again. “What, your old man bones can’t take a hug?”

“Oh, you’re _never_ getting a car.”


	4. Epilogue

Clint stared at the stove, perfectly still. All he had to do was reach out and turn the thing on, that was it. Reach out, turn it on, place the bread on the skillet, get the butter out of the fridge, find the orange juice, find a knife –

It thrummed inside his head, pulsing in tune with his headache, and he sighed. He should move, he should do _something_ – but he’d been locked in place for at least a half hour and he was stuck. The only saving grace was that no one was going to be up this early to watch him frozen in indecision.

Sam and Rhodey were in the infirmary, as were Nat and Barnes. Tony had managed to escape before Dr. Cho could catch him, but Clint had seen the exhaustion lining his face. Steve had consented to sleeping in the infirmary, keeping an eye on Barnes especially. The Spider-kid had been shown to a spare room, and Wanda had also turned in. Vision had gotten back some time in the night, but was patrolling the perimeter and he never entered the kitchen anyway.

Just as Clint reached the mental threshold to do _something_ – energy was thrumming under his skin, warring with exhaustion – he heard the door click open and he stilled completely.

Tony shuffled into view, head down and eyes unfocused. The man looked even worse in the light of day – he kept one hand close to his body and he was sporting impressive dark circles under even more impressive black eyes. He didn’t look at or acknowledge Clint – Clint wasn’t sure if Tony had even registered his presence.

He stumbled to the cabinet and took out a coffee mug, placing it on the counter before reaching to turn the coffee maker on. He swayed, overreaching, and knocked the mug off the counter.

Clint unfroze, and snatched it before it could hit the ground. Tony didn’t notice. He slumped against the counter, and covered his face with one hand, exhaling softly. He stayed there for a long moment.

Finally, he sighed and pushed himself upright, turning bleary eyes to squint at the floor, fingers white against the counter as he bent his knees – he halted, mid-crouch, blinking at the tiles.

Clint brandished the mug in Tony’s face, something inside of him raging at the long moment it took Tony to refocus his gaze, to blink, to recognize it, and to finally follow it to meet Clint’s eyes.

“Clint,” Tony said, and his voice sounded like gravel. Clint made no attempt to hide his wince.

“Tony,” he acknowledged, putting the mug on the counter and dragging him to a chair before he collapsed and Clint had to catch him.

Tony let himself be manhandled into the chair, blinking docilely at Clint as he turned on the stove and grabbed the orange juice out of the fridge before tossing a couple of bread slices onto the skillet. He let the coffee maker beep, but he filled a glass of juice and slid it to Tony with the ease of familiarity.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back home, almost imagine that it was Lila blinking at him sleepily from the counter, that Cooper would come bounding down the stairs and Laura would smile at him through a yawn.

But he wasn’t at home and Tony was staring at the orange juice like it was an alien lifeform. “Drink,” Clint informed him sternly in his best Dad voice, flipping over the bread slices. He got the butter out of the fridge.

Tony drank.

By the time he was done with the glass, the toast was ready and Clint set four slices in front of the man. Tony looked bewildered, but picked up a slice to nibble at it.

“You’re up far too early,” Clint said, as neutrally as he could.

Tony mumbled something that could be agreement around a bite of toast. “Work,” he said after he swallowed, “Need to – the Accords, Ross – Zemo – the media – the defenses – there’s a lot of work I need to do.”

“You _need_ to get that arm seen to,” Clint narrowed his eyes, “And the rest of you.”

Tony glared at him and muttered something sullenly about nosy, interfering archers. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the toast in his mouth. “No, I don’t,” Tony said, as cranky as Lila on four hours of sleep, “And you can’t make me.”

Clint smiled, a look that both his children and Nat would recognize as dangerous. “Watch me.” 

He scooped up the plate and grabbed Tony’s uninjured arm, stuffing another piece of toast in the man’s face as he marched him out the door.

“FRIDAY,” Tony sulked, “Barton is bullying me.”

“FRIDAY isn’t going to save you,” Clint informed him, “She likes me more.” He loved chatting with Tony’s AIs, perched up in the vents and learning all the best secrets and gossip. JARVIS had been dry and snarky, but FRIDAY was more outwardly neutral, which made her subtle digs all the more hilarious.

“She does not!” Tony gasped, betrayed, but the doors opened automatically in front of them, which was a point in Clint’s favor.

They were almost to the infirmary before Tony stumbled to a halt. “Clint,” he said, staring at him like he was only now realizing who was pulling him along.

“Yeah, Tony?” Clint raised an eyebrow, nudging him forward a few more steps.

“Got an eye in the sky over the farmhouse,” he said, solemn, “If anyone crosses the perimeter, FRIDAY will sound the alarm.”

Clint stared at him, and abruptly found it difficult to swallow.

“Thank you, Tony,” he said quietly, before pushing him the final few steps to the infirmary.

* * *

T’Challa looked solemn and regal, standing in front of flashing cameras and buzzing reporters. He spoke clearly and calmly.

“I know this was not what my father wanted,” he said, his voice measured, “The Accords were meant for peace. That they could’ve been twisted for these ends shows us that we were mistaken. The document as it stands requires heavy revision. As a result, I am announcing that Wakanda is formally withdrawing from the Sokovia Accords.”

Wakanda wasn’t the first country to withdraw their support. And they weren’t the last.

* * *

Sam groaned, squinting at the light filtering through the window. He tried to raise a hand to block it, but moving either hand resulted in a spike of pain and he subsided.

Leipzig. Rhodey, falling. Ross. _Ross_.

Sam hissed, scanning the room with half-lidded eyes. Rhodey was asleep on the bed next to him. Natasha was on the other side of the room. There was green grass outside the window. And Steve was hunched over in the chair next to him, staring at a tablet screen.

“Steve,” he croaked, and Steve startled upright.

“Sam,” he smiled, putting down the tablet. His bruises had faded somewhat, but there were still bags under his eyes. He had clearly had a shower at some point, and had changed into a light shirt and sweatpants, but Sam could see the lines of exhaustion running across his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Drugged,” Sam said, because he felt achy and floaty, like he’d been swaddled in cotton. Steve huffed a laugh at that.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Sam accused, narrowing his eyes.

Steve gave a half-shrug, still smiling.

Sam cast another glance around the room. “Barnes?” he asked, quieter.

Something shifted across Steve’s face, and the smile died. “In one of the guest rooms,” Steve said softly, “His eardrums are recovering, but he still can’t hear.” His face twisted. “Haven’t talked with Tony yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered back, feeling the sting of guilt, “I told him. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it just – I –”

“No,” Steve scrambled forward to grip his hand, looking at him intently, “Sam, no, it’s not your fault. I’m…” he hung his head. “I’m glad you told him. I’m glad he heard it from a friend.”

“He wasn’t mad?” Sam asked quietly.

“Zemo,” Steve started, and then paused. He sighed, and started again. “Zemo had a video. Of their deaths – Tony’s parents.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, and ignored the way his ribs twinged.

“He intended to use it to turn us against each other,” Steve said softly, “And if Tony hadn’t known, it probably would’ve worked.”

Oh, Sam could imagine how it would. He had seen the rage in Tony’s eyes when Sam had told him, had seen the murder written in every line of his body until Sam’s pleading had forced him to stop.

“So I’m really very grateful,” Steve said. He looked…hollow. “For telling him what I was never brave enough to say.”

Sam was unsure what to do with the haunted expression on Steve’s face. He tried for a teasing tone. “The great Captain America, a _coward_? I’m pretty sure that’s slander.”

Steve’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I was a coward. I knew it would hurt him and I knew he’d be angry and I was too much of a coward to face the consequences.”

“It’s okay,” Sam rubbed his thumb against Steve’s fingers, “Tony – Tony will forgive you. He just needs time to come to terms with the idea. And maybe if you explained to him why you didn’t tell him, he’ll understand.”

“Sound advice,” Steve said quietly, “More talking and less fighting all around.”

Sam smiled. The sun was setting outside the window, bathing the room in oranges and reds, and he felt _safe_ again.

* * *

Stark was poised, as he always was, but there was something darker behind his razor-sharp smile, a shadow to glittering charm. His sunglasses didn’t quite hide the dark bruises around his eyes, and a sling strapped his left arm to his chest. He didn’t falter at any of the questions.

“The US military is handling Secretary Ross, though I probably shouldn’t call him that anymore.”

“The Accords are no longer ratified by a majority of countries, so it’s a moot point to whether they were broken or not.”

“James Buchanan Barnes is a war hero. He was a member of the Howling Commandos, and was presumed to have died in battle. He’s been a prisoner of war with HYDRA for seventy years. Check your facts before you open your mouth.”

“No, I’m not aware of what happened to the man who blew up the UN.”

“No Avengers missions are currently being run.”

“No, I’m not sheltering fugitives in the Avengers compound.”

“War Machine and Falcon are recovering and they thank you for your well-wishes.”

“I’m not aware of the airport battle you’re referring to.”

At the final question, his smile became sharper and tighter, his voice softer. “I have every right to lock down my home and protect it as I see fit. If anyone attempts to step foot on my property, I will treat it as an invasion. And I will defend my home by whatever means necessary.”

* * *

Tony was tapping one-handed on a tablet in the living room when Steve entered. He murmured an acknowledgement, used to being interrupted. It was also the reason he wasn’t in his lab – someone or the other always showed up to drag him out and into the path of Dr. Cho’s scowl.

And besides, there was too much to do. Hill had showed up with Pepper, and told him that Zemo and the bunker in Siberia was being taken care of, courtesy of one of Fury’s super-secret spy teams, and Pepper had given him a flat look and the highlights of the media shitstorm. On the plus side, there had been a fond smile and a commiserating kiss, so that visit didn’t go as poorly as he’d expected.

Clint had showed up to inform him that he was heading home, and Vision was keeping tabs on Ross. Wanda showed up every other hour to bug him about the school she was going to go to, and Peter never took his mask off and chattered far too much. Rhodey and Sam had taken to sitting in corners and snickering, and Tony had far too much self-preservation to interfere in whatever they were plotting.

But there was politics swirling around him, and files to sift through, and every ten minutes someone needed his opinion on something, from whether the Pop-Tarts were for everyone (Peter) (they’re Thor’s but have at it) and how attached he was to the red Bugatti (Wanda) (I’m goddamn serious, you’re not getting a car) to a running list of how many countries had pulled out of the Accords (Nat) (76 and counting) and what they were going to replace it with (Steve) (I don’t fucking know, okay, you’re welcome to read the papers yourself).

So Tony stayed on the couch, kept his broken arm in its sling, shot envious looks at the people who’d shrugged off their injuries like they were nothing, and tried to not scream every time he was interrupted.

“What is it?” he said, when a minute ticked by without comment. He looked up from the tablet at the silence, blinking to see Steve shifting in place, looking vaguely uncomfortable, and –

And Barnes hovering in the doorway.

“What is it?” he repeated, looking at Steve and ignoring the elephant blocking one of the room’s access points.

Steve stuttered out something incomprehensible, before Barnes spoke over him. “I can hear again.”

Tony couldn’t help the full-body flinch as he scrambled up. “FRIDAY, turn off the intercom,” he ordered, turning to Barnes, “Right, we can fix that –”

“Tony, you can’t just keep on deafening him,” Steve said softly and Tony paused. He let out a slow, careful breath.

“And what do you propose?” Tony asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. They hadn’t talked about Siberia, not with the mess of Ross and the Accords to deal with, but Tony was not, absolutely-flat-out- _no_ , going to let the Winter Soldier stay in the Avengers compound.

He didn’t care how much Steve pouted or whined or threatened, it was an unacceptable risk.

Steve hesitated, glancing back at Barnes. His face twisted as he tried to think of a good answer.

“Stark’s right,” Barnes said quietly, “It’s too dangerous. I can do it myself.” He raised his metal arm and only halted at the horrified _“No!”_.

Tony stared at him, his heart hammering. “No,” he repeated hoarsely, swallowing and levelling a finger at Barnes, “ _No_. There can be only one goddamn martyr on this team, and Steve took up the position when he crashed a plane into an icy wasteland. I refuse to deal with any more self-sacrificing idiots. You are _not_ maiming yourself.”

Barnes blinked at him, but lowered the metal arm.

“You can put me on ice,” he suggested, “Until you figure out a solution.”

Tony saw Steve flinch at that, shivering and taking a step back. “No,” he said again, “I’m honestly insulted that you think I can’t do better than cryogenics. No, I’ll design a deconditioning – reconditioning? – whatever. I’ll design something to get those triggers out of your head. I need another pass at those psych books, and all the stuff that HYDRA had on conditioning techniques – the stuff that _someone_ released to the whole world without any thought as to the consequences –” Steve had the grace to blush. “– and probably pick up on all the research people have been doing on that. In the meantime, I’ll design you a set of noise-cancelling earbuds. I’ll get those to you by the end of the day.”

“Tony, your arm –”

“Priorities, Cap,” Tony waved him off, heading down to the lab. It was a good excuse to get back to the lab and get his hands dirty – and it was _also_ a priority, because Tony would not be able to stop the panic clawing at his throat until Barnes was no longer a threat.

* * *

Steve…Steve couldn’t believe what he was reading. He stared at the file longer, as though it would make sense if he squinted, if wavering vision would blur the words and return them to their _true_ state.

He had insisted. He needed to see every piece of paperwork that Tony had ever collected, so the Accords would never sneak up on him again.

Tony, to his credit, had blinked and let him have it.

It made him feel _worse_. He read the Accords. All of it, from the start, from the garbled mess it had been, every one of Tony’s revisions calmly underlining what the Avengers _would not_ submit to.

That had been bad, in the way of guilt and self-recrimination and the vow to do _better_. The Accords weren’t the right way, but then it was up to him to find one that worked. And he’d tried to start on that, following the dizzying trail of politics and bad press, but he’d been…distracted by the files they’d recovered from Ross.

“Cap?” Steve turned to see Tony leaning against the doorway, looking at him with a slight frown. Steve stared at him, at the bags under his eyes and the grease on his hands and the way he looked at him with the faintest crease of bemusement, his gaze shifting over his shoulder to the tablet on Steve’s desk.

At all the ways that categorized Tony as living and breathing and _living_ in front of him.

“Tony,” he said, his voice breaking. Tony’s expression shifted towards alarm as he stepped further in the room. “Tony. How – how could he have –”

Alarm blended into realization, then concern again. “You found the file, I take it,” Tony said, a mirthless smile on his face.

He didn’t look as terrified as he should’ve been. As terrified as _Steve_ felt, reading those grim lines. “How can you stand there?” Steve breathed out finally.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Practice, Cap,” he said, leaning back against the doorway, “The compound’s on lockdown. We’re safe, and the bastard’s in jail. It doesn’t matter what he planned to do or who he planned to do it to.”

Tony was deliberately misunderstanding. Or actually misunderstanding. Steve wasn’t sure anymore. He’d felt something _break_ at the sight of Tony’s betrayed, empty gaze in a bunker in Siberia and it hadn’t healed even when he stepped to protect him.

“Torture. Execution. Sneaking and lying,” Steve waved a hand, “All those I understand. But – but _you_ – Ross had –”

“Right, I’m special,” Tony said. The amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, I definitely underestimated the level of hatred Ross had for me, but I didn’t –”

“Don’t,” Steve said tightly, “Tony, _don’t_. Don’t make a joke about this.”

Tony paused. “This isn’t the first threat I’ve gotten, Cap,” he said, and his words were gentler this time, “I started getting death threats the moment I took over Stark Industries. Making weapons, blowing people up – makes a lot of enemies. Even if your name is Iron Man.”

“This,” Steve said, slowly, deliberately, “ _Isn’t a death threat_.”

“Close enough,” Tony shrugged, “Really, the only question is what I did to Ross because I didn’t think that I pissed off the man _that_ much over the Accords and I’m not sure what else it could’ve been, though I could’ve certainly ignored him at a gala or canceled a weapons contract –”

“Tony,” Steve stood up, stalking forward until he was close enough to grab the other man’s shoulders. “Ross is a lunatic. This isn’t your fault.”

Tony smiled again, sharp-edged and brittle. “Most things are,” he said quietly.

Steve tightened his grip. “No,” he said, “ _This is not your fault_.”

“It was called the _Sokovia_ Accords, Cap,” Tony said. The smile was fracturing. “Not the New York Accords or the D.C. Accords or any other shitstorm that we raised. This is on me. It always was.”

Steve closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. He should never have let Tony leave after Ultron. They were _friends_ , he should’ve stopped Tony, he should’ve realized how deep the self-loathing ran long before it began to bleed.

“You told Bucky that there could only be one goddamn martyr on this team,” Steve said lightly, “And I’m warning you, I’m not going to let you take it without a fight.”

Tony laughed at that – it was still brittle, tinged with hysteria, but Steve would take what he got.

“What a pair we make,” Tony huffed, slumping further against the door frame.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve repeated firmly, “You gave everything for this team. You created Ultron to _help_. It’s not your fault that –”

“That my brilliance spiraled out of control?” Tony finished for him, “Sure it is, Cap. It always has been. The Avengers is nothing new, I’ve been doing it for decades. What was the review?” his eyes were hard even as he smiled, “Iron Man, yes. Tony Stark, not recommended. I don’t play well with others.”

Steve laughed at that, “And you think _I_ do? Tony, I spent most of my childhood fighting bullies in back alleys and then my military career disobeying orders and getting into fights – I assure you, _‘play well with others’_ was not on any evaluation of mine.”

Some part of Tony’s smile eased to something more genuine. “What a pair we make,” Tony repeated.

“You protect the people you care for,” Steve said softly, “And that’s all that matters.”

“And, like I told you, the compound is on lockdown, I don’t know why you’re so –”

“I protect the people I care for too,” Steve cut him off, narrowing his eyes. Tony blinked at him, confused, before his eyes widened and he ducked his head.

“I will destroy Ross before I ever let him near you,” Steve promised, and watched tension ease from Tony’s frame.

“Thanks, Cap,” Tony said, and something felt lighter in the air. Steve felt the crack in his heart begin to heal. “My knight in shining armor. I am truly blessed to have such a stalwart protector, such a chivalrous defender. Why, I do declare I could almost –”

Steve shoved Tony through the door and ignored his snickering. He cast one last glance at the tablet, his jaw tight, before exhaling sharply and following Tony out the door.

* * *

**_Designation:_ ** _Black Panther._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Vibranium suit._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _5\. Prince of Wakanda._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _Covert, cannot be seen moving against a sovereign nation. Perhaps an accident involving the vibranium black-market trade._ **Ulysses Klaue is always interested in vibranium.**

**~**

****

**_Designation:_ ** _Falcon_

 **_Powers:_ ** _Winged suit._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _3\. Military training, specialized for winged suit._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _Destroy the suit. No further action necessary._ **If possible, convince to re-enlist. It would be a damn shame to lose a good man.**

~

**_Designation:_ ** _War Machine._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Iron Man suit._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _3\. Military training, Tony Stark’s friend._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _Destroy the suit. No further action necessary._ **If possible, convince to re-enlist. Shouldn’t be hard to turn the man away from Stark.**

~

**_Designation:_ ** _Scarlet Witch._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Magic. Known: telekinesis and telepathy._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _4\. Magic._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _ECT to reverse the effects of whatever gave her the powers._ **If not possible, then eliminate. Threat of unknown powers too great.**

~

**_Designation:_ ** _Vision._

 **_Powers:_ ** _??? AI. Light beams. Flight._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _5\. Non-human._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _Eliminate by any means necessary._

~

**_Designation:_ ** _Winter Soldier._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Supersoldier._

 ** _Threat Level:_** _4\. Trigger words: Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Доброкачественный. Возвращение на родину. Один._ _Грузовой вагон._

 ** _Contingency:_** _Use trigger words to keep docile until serum effects can be reversed._ **Or order him to eat a bullet.**

~

**_Designation:_ ** _Hulk._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Strength._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _5\. Uncontrollable and rage-fueled._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _Eliminate by any means necessary._ **Research still insufficient on how to reverse the effects of the serum long enough to kill the man.**

~

**_Designation:_ ** _Thor._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Lightning. Flight._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _5\. Alien._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _SHIELD footage of a de-powered Thor indicates there is a method to do so._ **Destroy the hammer.**

~

**_Designation:_ ** _Hawkeye._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Spy, archer._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _5\. Highly placed in SHIELD._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _Eliminate quietly and discreetly._ **Barton knows too much to live.**

~

**_Designation:_ ** _Black Widow._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Spy, Red Room trained._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _5\. Former Russian agent._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _Execute._ **Who knows what side she’s on.**

~

**_Designation:_ ** _Captain America._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Supersoldier._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _5\. National icon._

 **_Contingency:_ ** _Bullet to the brain._ **Even supersoldiers can’t recover from that.**

~

**_Designation:_ ** _Iron Man._

 **_Powers:_ ** _Engineer, weapons manufacturer, Iron Man suit._

 **_Threat Level:_ ** _6\. Built himself a walking weapon out of scraps in a desert._

 ** _Contingency:_** _Order him to destroy his AIs._ **Torture his friends/family to do so? Stark seems vulnerable to emotional manipulation.** _Order him to destroy all schematics of his weapons, his suits, and his arc reactor._ **Howard was the same – thinking the guy who built the weapon was more important than the guy who wielded it.** _Once all of his creations are destroyed and erased – conduct a lobotomy._

**I want the world to see what happens when Icarus flies too close to the sun.**

**Author's Note:**

> Leaving some open threads for Tony whump. (Thinking about two sequels.)


End file.
